There is no place to hide
in the library,
there is to be no sanctuary
for those of us unfortunate enough
to be caught in the midst
of the gunman's wrath.
The sociopath
has burst through the double doors;
He shoots at anything with a pulse.
In his impulse,
he either doesn't stop to think
or doesn't care,
that his bullet-ridden victims
belong to parents elsewhere...
Parents who are completely unaware
that they are going
to have to bury
their children.
The gunman empties
round after round,
bodies hit the ground.
Those who are still alive
play dead,
these survivors will forever
be haunted by the blood shed.
The gunman fires
all of his bullets,
all but one.
When he puts one
through his own head,
his onslaught is done.
YOU ARE READING
Habits of the Heart
Poetry𝓜y words are the equivalent of a rose petal spiraling down the Grand Canyon, and you are it's echo.
